


Oathkeeper

by duchess_of_brighton



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brienne is the Best, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Smut, True Love, jaime is also pretty great
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 21:04:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21105989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duchess_of_brighton/pseuds/duchess_of_brighton
Summary: S6:E8 (No One) - Brienne and Jaime, reunited, alone in that tent... Maybe Bronn had a point.Originally written right after the episode, so no pollution by later canon!





	Oathkeeper

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm posting some of my older stuff that started out on fanfiction.net, but just the one shots for now... 
> 
> I originally wrote this right after the episode No One aired, and then almost died with excitement earlier this year when something finally, finally happened with these two in the show. But on balance, I still wish this version had been canon!

She loves unrequitedly. That’s what Brienne does, it’s who she is. It seems to be a part of her soul, this ability to only love men who would never look at her that way. And when she does, on rare occasions, happen across a man who just might look at her that way, she can’t bring herself to act on it. 

And she thinks all this as she stands in front of Jaime Lannister, a man who she has every reason to hate, but also to love, and she remembers riding together in the rain, and his courage, and his well hidden vulnerability, and the look in his eyes when he gave her the sword, and all she can think is how good it is to lay eyes on him again, even if it hurts, because he’s Jaime, and she loves him, and despite seeing him in her dreams every night, seeing him like this, in the flesh, looking older somehow, more worn, and yet in a strange way, softer, is the best she’s felt in months. 

And maybe she’s imagining it, but she’s sure she can see a sort of affection in his eyes. A respect, at least. He doesn’t talk to her like a subordinate, like an annoyance, like a woman. He talks to her like a knight, and she loves him even more for that. It’s enough, she tells herself, it’s enough. 

When he looks at Brienne, Jaime sees an echo of himself, of what he might have been. If he hadn’t become the Kingslayer, if he hadn’t fallen in love with Cersei, if the world had been different and he could have just been a knight instead of Jaime fucking Lannister. And he remembers riding in the rain, and her courage, and her all too obvious vulnerability that she tries and fails to hide behind that armour, and the look in her eyes when he gave her the sword, and he’s so glad to see her again, to bask for a moment in her honour and nobility and absolute loyalty, even if it isn’t directed towards him. 

She isn’t Cersei, she isn’t even attractive, not really, except that she is, somehow, to him, and he wonders, not for the first time, if the picture he has built in his mind from brief glimpses and imagination is accurate to what she actually looks like under all of that armour. He wonders if her skin would be soft, because she is still, after all, a woman, or weathered and hard because she is, after all, a knight. 

He’s still staring at her, and Brienne knows that she should look away, move away, but this is Jaime, and if he wants to look at her, then let him look. There’s nothing much to see, she thinks, nothing for a man like him to want to linger on or contemplate, but if he wants to look at her then let him look. And when he first reaches out a hand, she almost lashes out to defend herself, such is her instinct and such is the rarity of anyone wanting to touch her to do anything but harm. But she resists, and he touches her breastplate, and when he says _take it off_, she finds herself obeying him, as though he is her lord, and perhaps at this moment he is. 

And when the armour is gone, and only fabric is left between her skin and his eyes, and he touches her chest again, and again says, _take it off_, she hesitates because he’s Jaime Lannister, and then she obeys because he’s Jaime Lannister, and for a moment she wonders if this is a plot, or a trick, or a joke, but then she sees that affection in his eyes again, and she’s almost sure this time and when he reaches out for the third time and traces his hand over her bare skin and says, _soft_, she almost weeps. 

The picture in his mind did not do her justice, not at all, because without her armour, without her clothes, Brienne is something close to magnificent, and what started as curiosity has become something else, and Jaime feels something akin to love for her in this moment, as she stands there naked before him, defiant and vulnerable and almost beautiful. And she quivers at the touch of his hand, and it affects him more than he would ever have expected, and he moves his fingers across her chest, onto her breast, and she stays still, and silent, but her eyes hold something that makes him step closer, close enough to feel her breath on his face, and his hand ventures lower. 

Jaime Lannister is touching her, and it’s nothing like she ever would have expected, because it’s gentle, so gentle, and while his fingers are hard, his touch is soft, and his eyes are still on hers, and when he says, _yes?_ – and it is a question, most certainly a question, not a command or a statement – she finds herself repeating the word, without the question, because this is Jaime and if he wants this, then she wants this, and when his fingers reach her most intimate place, the place where no-one’s fingers but her own have been before, she feels helpless for the first time in the longest time, and she almost pulls away, except that it’s Jaime, so she doesn’t.

With any other woman, he would have lifted her onto the bed, but Brienne isn’t any other woman, she is like no other woman in the world, so he leads her there instead, and as she lays down, she makes to pull the blanket over herself, but he shakes his head and she lets it fall. Her skin is so white, like marble, and as he removes his clothes, he wonders if she has done this before, if this is new to her, because it feels like it is, but perhaps that’s because it feels new to him, to touch skin that isn’t Cersei’s, to look into eyes that aren’t hers, but he wants to look into these eyes, and he wants to touch this skin, and while he won’t kiss her, would never kiss anyone but Cersei, he will look at her, and he will touch her. 

He makes her feel small, and Brienne never feels small. He makes her feel vulnerable too, and female, and makes her aware of everything that she hides beneath her armour, but when he touches her skin with his hand, and then with his lips, when he touches her in those places that have never been touched but are crying out for his touch, she almost rejoices in being a woman, and being small in his arms, and being vulnerable, because Jaime wants her, wants to touch her, and when he parts her legs and moves between them, and when he pushes himself inside her and it almost hurts, but feels too good to hurt, she finally understands, she understands, and she reaches out her hands and touches him too. 

She hasn’t done this before, he’s certain now, but she’s soft and hot and when her hands touch his back, lightly and almost fearfully, he wants to groan aloud because she’s Brienne, and she’s like no other woman, but she is a woman, fully a woman, and she feels like the first touch of summer after the longest winter, and he almost laughs at himself for thinking it, but her hands are touching him more boldly now, and her eyes are dark, and he wants to please her more than he’s ever wanted to please anyone, so his hand roams and his eyes roam, and his mind roams to a place where he isn’t Jaime Lannister, he’s just a man, laying with a woman.

He’s touching her everywhere, inside and outside, in places that make her sigh and places that make her whimper, and she’s touching him too, and he likes it, she knows, somehow, that he likes it, and heavens how she likes it, and her body is lifting away from her control, arching into his touch, craving more and more and more of him until the craving is all that’s left, not Brienne, not Jaime, just the craving, taking over everything, until satisfaction comes like a storm breaking.

He does kiss her, then, because he can’t not, because she’s Brienne, and in that moment she is his, completely his, in a way that Cersei will never be, in a way that no one else will ever be, and because she’s his, he kisses her, and her mouth is as warm and soft as the space between her legs, and he loses himself in both places at once, and he is lost, truly lost, for that moment, until her hands find him and bring him back again. 

Jaime, she says, because she has no other words, and he replies, Brienne, because nor does he, and their hands speak far more than their mouths do, and their eyes speak the most of all.


End file.
